


Ever Shall Be

by romanticalgirl



Category: Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:02:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do you solve a problem like Maria?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ever Shall Be

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/)**nolivingman** for the beta.
> 
> Originally posted 4-4-07

“Father?”

Horatio looked up from the book before him, setting it aside quickly at the troubled gaze of his son. “Yes, Richard Arthur?”

“I have a question, if I may?” He stood awkwardly in the doorway of the study, his eyes moving from his father’s face to the window and the distant view of the sea.

“Of course. Come in. Shut the door.” Horatio got up from his desk and moved around, settling in one of the lush leather chairs and indicating to his son to do the same. The boy was lanky and thin, a reflection of Horatio at his age, though something in his face held memories of another. The boy sat and frowned at his hands as he grasped them in his lap. “What is your question, son?”

“I was in the other room doing my studies and I heard Mother talking to one of her friends. I wasn’t eavesdropping,” he rushed to add, his face flushed with heat. “I was doing my studies, I promise, Father.”

“Of course.” Horatio gave him an indulgent grin and nodded his encouragement. “Go on.”

“Mother mentioned that you had other children.”

“Oh.” Horatio cleared his throat roughly and turned his own gaze to the window. “Yes. That’s…that’s true. I did. Um. Horatio and Maria. Long…long ago.”

“What happened to them?”

“They died of s-scarlet fever. Maria was just a baby and Horatio was…a few…a few years.” He darted a look at his son. “Lady Barbara mentioned them?”

“No, sir. She just mentioned that you’d had other children before. And their mother, sir? She was _my_ mother?”

Horatio exhaled a deep breath and brought his gaze to bear on his son, watched the familiar eyes. “Yes. Her name was Maria.”

“Will you tell me about her, sir?”

“I…your m…” Horatio closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair. “Ha-h’m. I would not know what to say. G-give me some time to gather my thoughts?” He could hear his son stand, the ungainly shuffle of long limbs and large feet.

“Of course, sir. Thank you for your time.”

“Richard Arthur?”

“Yes, Father?”

“It would be best that you not mention this to Lady Barbara.” He glanced at his son, saw the smile that he knew so well, despite the few times he had ever seen it, ever given cause for it to grace Maria’s face.

“I had already gathered that, Father.”

**

Horatio sat on the boy’s bed, surveying the room as if seeing it for the first time. It was decorated with small fields of soldiers and seas of ships set high on shelves, the regular play for a boy of money and imagination, though Horatio had heard him plot battles that were out of history books, wondering what if and why. He’d smiled when he’d first heard, until he realized the decisions Richard questioned were his own as readily as Admiral Nelson’s or anyone else’s.

Hurried feet rushed down the hall and Horatio smoothed his hands along his thighs, setting his chin carefully on his collar. The relaxed clothes of a gentleman offer less protection than a uniform, and he cannot even escape into the anonymity they might deign to offer.

Richard Arthur hurried in the door and then stopped, eyes wide and startled at he incongruous sight of his father. “I’m so sorry. Hello, Sir.”

“No need to apologise, son. They are, after all, your quarters. Your mother assured me I was safe to set foot in them, though I kept to my honor and did not search for any sealed orders.” He wondered at his own sudden frivolity, especially as, aboard ship, he would have hanged the man who might dare present such a face to him. “You have much school work?”

“No, Father.”

“Ah. That’s…that’s good. I would like to discuss then, the topic you touched upon in my study the other day.”

“My mother, Sir?”

7

“Yes.” Horatio nodded and frowned slightly, glancing toward the window. “Yes. Maria.”

“And you’ll tell me of her? What she was like? What life might have been like with her?” Richard carefully set his books on his low desk then moved to the bed, sitting next to his father, long legs swinging slightly over the edge of the mattress until he stilled them, matching his father’s steady silence. “I do care for Lady Barbara very much, Father. I just…I wish to know. You understand, don’t you?”

“Of course, Richard.” Horatio nodded once again and cleared his throat. His brow furrowed, a familiar rut scoring his forehead between his brows. “It is only natural to wish to know where you’re from, the family you are part of. I’ve told you something of my own father and my history, but I fear, out of deference to Lady Barbara, that I’ve neglected to grant that honor to your mother.”

“What was she like, Father? Was she beautiful? Was she a grand lady? Did you meet at an Admiralty dinner? Was she dressed in the finest of gowns?”

“Your mother…” Horatio got to his feet and paced the length of the room, one hand clenched around the other wrist behind his back. “She was lovely. She was like a dream, delicate and genteel. She came from money, but her father refused to let her marry a penniless, unemployed Captain of little prospect. She told him, in no uncertain terms, that she was to be my wife, and that I would become far more than a Captain.”

“Do I look like her?”

“I fear you are much the reflection of me, Richard, though I do see her in your smile. She had such a bright smile, so quick to offer it up to me. She learned to become a wife and a lady all at once, making ends meet until her father granted us his blessing, not moments before he died. We had a little money, but…when Horatio and Maria died, we found that it did little to assuage the grief.”

“She was a lady then.” Richard sighed. “I feared, since you never talked about her, that she was some lowborn woman, or worse.”

“Richard.” The hard edge of Horatio’s voice brought Richard’s face up. “Whatever she was, she was my _wife_.”

“Oh, I do know that, Father. I meant no disrespect.” He watched Horatio for a moment, his eyes wide as he waited for the nod that meant forgiveness. Horatio had learned to be more forgiving of his son that he would be of any man that served under him, so he gave it to him. “And when she died? Lady Barbara took me in? As you were presumed dead?”

“Yes.”

“And how did Lady Barbara know my mother?”

“They were friends. Both married to men lost at sea. Lady Barbara did us both a great kindness by taking you in.”

“And when you came for me? Is that when you fell in love with her? Or did you grieve my mother for a while?”

“Love is a intangible thing, and hard to define.” Horatio cleared his throat again. “Lady Barbara did us both a kindness. I do not wish to repay it in any further talk that might wound her.”

“I understand, Father. But…might I see her? See my mother’s grave?” He held his gaze on Horatio, watching as he stood in the doorway. “Pay my respects to her, Father?”

“We shall see.” Horatio granted, his voice tight. “We shall see.”

**

Horatio stood at the grave, staring down at the simple marker. It had not changed since he last saw it, a trial breathing down his neck and an uncertain future ahead of him. He had asked for a few moments, and heard the faint chatter of Brown and Richard as they neared.

He wondered for a moment if it would matter, make any kind of difference if Maria had been the woman he’d described to his son, or if it mattered that Richard believe something that was not the truth. Better to have a mother he could be proud of than one that was never fit to be the wife of a Captain, and certainly not the wife of anything beyond.

“Maria Hornblower.” Richard’s voice was soft, reverent as he knelt down in front of the grave. “It seems strange, doesn’t it, Father? That someone who gave me life should lose hers. Was she delicate? Had the small pox that took my brother and sister weakened her?”

“She died of grief, Sir.” Brown’s voice was barely there in the background, spoken more to Richard than to Horatio. It was truth, however. Grief was as easily what Maria died of, though he knew that were his adventures to come out into the light of day, there would also be shame. He had shamed her with lies and half-truths, shamed her with indignities and infidelity.

“She was not delicate.” Horatio didn’t recognize his voice, the rough rasp of it thick with odd emotion. “She was sturdy. Blunt and mousy. Her hands were red from hard work and her body somewhat squat and broad, perfect for bearing children.”

“B-but, Father…”

“She was nothing, as was I when she married me. She was an improper wife and a worse match for a man with ambition. She did not understand the sea, and begrudged me my time at it. She suffered my children dying until I was bade come home, and then she became something worse. She sat in mourning, the frumpy wife with no desire and nothing desirous of her. She was a body I was indebted to, and I paid my debt well enough.”

Richard looked struck, his eyes bright in the afternoon light. “What must you think of me then, Sir? To be born of her blood?”

“It is nothing of that. You are my son, and Lady Barbara’s as well. Maria…Maria is nothing. Was nothing. An aberration. A grey mark on a clean slate.” He looked away from his son. “We did not tell you of her, because it is better that you believe what you must to stand tall and straight, to follow the path set before you.”

“Did you not love her then, Father?”

“I loved many women. Quite a few of them while married to Maria.” Horatio glanced at Brown. “Take the boy back to the carriage. I will be along in a moment.”

He waited until he was alone then walked over to the marker, kneeling down to touch it lightly. “You understand, Maria. You always understood.” He frowned again, wondering at the words that still tasted of ashes on his tongue. “I loved many women while I was married to you, Maria, I owe you that truth. But here is another. One of them…one of them was you.”  



End file.
